Chapter Seven Please, No. One of the late-arriving ladies wins the bid for Denise and me. She wears a long black blouse cut to expose her heavy cleavage and disguise the thickness of her lower body, over denims braided with rhinestones and glittery shoes. She carries a mammoth purse. Her sex thoughts shadow my mind like a black cloud. Oh-oh. In the better light of the glass rooms, I see she wears no makeup. Her hair is cut to mask its thinness and streaked with gray. She runs her hands under our dresses while we take off her clothes, not looking at our faces or the other rooms. Her bra is studded with silver spikes. Her eyes stay on our bodies. Her lips press as if she’s full of anger. We hug, kiss, and caress her while she tugs off our clothes. When we’re naked, she says, “On the bed.” She opens her big purse and takes out a relatively comfortable-looking dildo. We squirm, smile, and reach for her. She doesn’t smile. Each minute in her hour of owning us brings a harder challenge, with her producing one toy after another from her damned purse.
